Friday, March 18, 2011

He lay on the bed; dreaming.
A butterfly came near his eyes, and started fluttering its paper wings noisily.
He lifted open his fatigue-laden eye-lids, and caught a blur of colours, too close in sight.
He wished to destroy it.
Raising a scarred hand towards it, he aimed at the source of noisy colours.
His fingers curled around the still-alive butterfly.
He felt the soft structures shaking with apparent frolic, within his grasp.
The tingling sensation was confusing.
Out of focus, out of focus.
Tiny rice-sized lights lit up, one by one, across the entire maze of tread-upon, and un-tread-upon tracks.
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the details of the wings, that still flapped against his skin.
He imagined they were red, yellow, blue, green, and a host of loud colours, all in the world that lay confined in his hand.
He held it tighter, wishing the riot to last forever.
Suddenly, a high-pitched young voice screamed.
"Forever?!"
It echoed around the walls.
And the movement stopped.
Jerked back to reality for the second time, the over-wrought mind urged its optical devices to go back to work.
As the reluctant palm unfolded, they saw the life-less insect.
Dirty white, grey, black and innumerable shades of their blends.
The moth looked at the large pair of mirrors weighing down upon him.
Then, it went to sleep, forever.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Lost and found, and lost again;My eyes on the hunt,Despite the strain,Dissolving the old edges again,I extinguish my silence.

Noon.

Rock, thou shalt weather too!But first, un-learnA thing or two.

Afternoon.

A finger nudges. "Do you love me?""No.""Do you trust me?""No.""Do you want to leave me?""Yes.""You're lying to me. I don't like liars.""Fine."He leaves.

Evening.

I wanted it. I did it. Now, you have the rest of the day to find out if I was right or wrong.I wanted it. I did not do it. Now, you think I was wrong.I didn't want it. I did it. Now, you think I was right.

Night.

A walk across the yawning valley.A part of me, left behind.A ride across the waves of men.I get back what is mine.

Dawn.

Buzz. Buzz. Right then, you know, I looked at my palms.They showed me a world, I held all the while.Enclosed tight.In fear of your light.In one second, all the melodrama that enfolds, Takes its toll, one night a time. Good morning, my Night.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

There's this story.
Four people. Four correct people. Four minds. Four points of view. Equally justified.
What I'm going to do is, place you in a different direction, every 15 seconds.
North.
South.
West.
East.
Thus, in the course of a minute, you would have rotated and revolved, with your eyes wide open, so fast, that your head would be spinning.
Then, there you are.
Look at me now.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

"Are you happy?"
"I don't know."
"Why? Are you happy?"
"Maybe I am. Why?"
"Then, smile."
"I can't smile. I can't even breathe."
"Why? I told you cigarettes are dangerous."
"No, it's not that. There's a huge black rock weighing down on my lungs. And it's not made of smoke."
"Is the rock made of mud?"
"No, not mud. Stone. Just stone."
"Stone turns into mud, remember? Don't worry."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Do you trust me?"
"How does it matter?"
"Do you love me?"
"I don't know."
"Then you don't love me."
"Damn you. I think I love you. I could be wrong. How will I know?"
"If you love me, then you trust me."
"Try me."
Interruption.

And I killed again.
Two people together.
But there's a pattern now.
One from the past.
One from the future.
Known faces, all. Damn.
But I'm not worried, because I know where it came from.
I know every bend of that bridge connecting the conscious to the sub-conscious.
That's too hard not to be bothered about.